Lucky Jim 3 Cajun and GatorChapter 10
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Friday March 11
As usual, I was up before sunrise. The problem was that there wasn’t any place to go, so I settled for the main deck where I went through my forms. I began jogging around the deck when I finished. Nearing the stern, I was surprised to find two of the crew fishing.
“Would you like to join us?” one of them asked.
“I’d love to fish, but not that way. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I replied, and then made my way below to where the helicopter was housed. Our Security’s grav sleds were there too, all but the two currently flying above us. Mine had also been brought aboard. Once I had my grav sled on the elevator, one of the crew helped by raising the elevator. I flew it next to where the two men were still fishing while they watched what I was doing.
After attaching the biggest lure I could find and a one-kilogram weight to the spilon cable attached to the back of my grav sled, I baited the lure and took off. After half an hour of scanning the ocean to the east, I found what I was looking for and dropped the baited lure in the middle of the school of herring the tuna were chasing.
“Yee-haw,” I shouted when my grav sled dipped significantly before the autopilot corrected the altitude. I headed for the ship with what I later learned was a 250-kilogram bluefin.
The two fishermen gawked as I lowered it to the rear deck, making sure it was well away from the edge. They had me move it onto the cargo elevator and lowered it to the next deck while calling someone.
Fifteen minutes later, several crew members arrived with two, four-wheeled furniture dollies. Since the area above the elevator was open, I lifted the tuna with the grav sled so they could position the dollies beneath it. Once they unhooked it, they started pushing the two-meter-long fish through the network of passageways.
“Now that’s the way to fish,” one of the two fishermen laughed as the workers and fish disappeared around a distant corner.
The rest of the day was spent relaxing. Some of the women watched the little ones, frequently at the pool. Others used the top-deck nude tanning area. I spent much of the time in our stateroom performing the husbandly duties expected of me on our honeymoon.
Saturday March 12
Today was very similar to yesterday. The two fishermen were at it again when I finished my workout. This time, they were ready for me.
I headed farther south this time. When my scanner showed several fish that included six swordfish in a loose group, I dropped my baited jig in front of one of them and ended up catching a Mako shark that had been going after one of the swordfish. Despite being disappointed, I took it back to the ship. The two fishermen had become six by then, including Idania and Helga. The four crewmembers were excited about the shark and assured me that they preferred the Mako shark to the swordfish, especially the way their chef fixed it.
The still photographer wanted a picture of us with the shark. Idania and Helga bookended me, and the four fishermen squeezed into the picture. Since it was three and a half meters long and weighed five hundred kilograms, there was plenty of room in the photo for the seven of us.
Having brought home swordfish before, after tasting the Mako shark at dinner, I had to agree that it was better.
Sunday March 13
Even though we were headed back to port, I went fishing this morning, returning with a swordfish this time. Since we’d be docking before lunch, I left it for the crew’s dinner tonight.
We docked just before lunch, but they still had an early lunch for us. Afterwards, we thanked the entire crew, and especially Dorothy Shaw.
“No need to thank me,” she chuckled. This is the first time I’ve been out on the Pickup Truck. Normally, they only go out four or five times a year, and only when high-ranking foreign dignitaries are visiting.”
The same bus was waiting for us and took us back to the bullet train station in Richmond where we caught another bullet train. Instead of one headed up the coast, this one headed inland. This time, Dorothy went with us.
We spent the night in a small hotel in Charleston, West Virginia.
Monday March 14
Yet another school bus awaited us after breakfast. Less than an hour later, we stepped off the bus in front of Lucky Jim I’s original home. I was surprised that it was still standing and asked the guide about it.
“Yes, we’ve had to do extensive repairs and maintenance, but at least half of the building is still the original wood. When they did the repairs, they brought the building up to code as much as possible,” he explained.
I could sense Jim’s presence almost as soon as we entered the building. It was strongest in one of the small, no make that dinky, bedrooms. Not sure if it was safe to sit on the narrow bed or the rickety-looking chair, I stood next to the bed and reveled in the feeling.
“Are you okay?” Sally asked when I finally opened my eyes.
“Great, why?”
“You have tears running down your face,” she replied.
“Feeling Jim’s presence was exhilarating,” I explained as she dabbed away the tears.
“Did you feel anything in there?” one of the reporters asked when we exited the house.
“Oh, yeah,” I replied. “I could feel Jim’s presence throughout the house, but it was especially strong in his old bedroom.”
“Did your wives feel it, too?” another reporter asked.
Realizing that I didn’t know, I looked at Sally. She looked at the others and asked the question in Chinese. I was surprised that each of the ladies, and even the children who spoke Chinese, nodded.
“Yes, we all felt it in the bedroom. It was easy to tell that Jim felt it. He stood in the room with his arms out to his sides and his head tilted back like he was enjoying being outside in the rain,” Sally chuckled.
Even Dorothy commented on it, but only after we were aboard the bus. “I’ve been through that house several times but that was the first time I felt anything like that. I felt like someone had wrapped me in a thick, fuzzy blanket. It gave me chills.”
After that, we headed back to Charleston and the bullet train station, taking a train back to Richmond where we switched trains to one headed north. We stepped off that train in Washington, D.C., to a late evening welcome by the biggest group of reporters yet.
Since I couldn’t understand a word because they were all shouting at the same time, I just smiled and waved as we boarded yet another old school bus.
“Not that I mind, but why do we keep getting picked up in school buses?” I asked.
“The schools can use the money they get by renting it to us,” Sally explained.
“The other option is limousines,” Dorothy added.
“School buses are perfect,” I quickly assured them. Even though we could easily afford it, using limousines would be displaying our wealth. I was supposed to be trying to lead the country out of a depression, not show off how much money we had.
By now, I was hardly surprised when our bus stopped outside the same hotel we had stayed in when we were in the capital for the ceremony where I was presented as Lucky Jim III.
We had to push our way through another a crowd of reporters and cameras as we entered and registered. A small army of bellhops appeared to take our luggage to our room. Once again, Sally was handing out business cards, just like she’d done at each train station we’d used.
The ladies and kids crashed, exhausted from all the traveling. Me? I was restless.
“Do you guys mind of I go out and wander around for a couple of hours?” I asked.
“You’re not exhausted?” Annette asked.
“No, I’m restless. You have to remember that I’m used to a lot of physical activity every day. The most I’ve done since we left New Orleans is walk from the train to the bus, or vice versa.
“Take pictures,” Helga insisted.
“Like the news people won’t take enough? Besides, it’s dark,” I laughed as I picked up one of our cameras anyway.
I almost turned around and headed back to our room when I stepped outside of the hotel. Cameras flashed, lights for video cameras came on, and reporters shouted questions. Rather than walking, I jogged, quickly leaving the reporters behind--at least for a few minutes. They eventually caught up with me just before I left the Washington Memorial.
It was a majestic sight and I was glad that the Welfare War had spared the historical monuments. Much of the rest of this and other big cities weren’t as lucky. I was just leaving the memorial when the cameras caught up with me.
My next stop was the WWII memorial, and then the WWI Memorial that had been completed just before the Welfare War.
The Korean War Memorial with its lifelike statues of US servicemen was a bit ghostly in the dark.
The Lincoln Memorial made me think. In hindsight, it was easy to criticize him for some of the things he had done. However, given the immense pressure of just being President coupled with the added pressure of watching the Unites States tearing itself apart, who knew what was “right?” The luxury of being able to look back at what happened gave us an entirely different perspective. We know things today that Lincoln wasn’t aware of back then.
That made me think about President Atkinson and his decisions. Nope, he was an idiot, caring more about being re-elected than about dealing with the problem. It also made me feel sorry for President Talbot. I couldn’t even imagine the pressure that she was under.
At least I remembered to take a picture of the Washington Memorial, catching the reflection of the lighted memorial in the reflecting pool.
I felt that the black Viet Nam Memorial wall was a fitting color for a war memorial.
My next stop was the new MEW Memorial. As I’d done at each of the other memorials, I bowed my head and said a short prayer.
My final stop was the Lucky Jim memorial, dedicated to Jims I and II. Jim I was posed on a horse with his saber drawn as if he were leading a charge, just as he’d been depicted in the sketch from the Harper’s Weekly. Jim II was depicted sitting at his desk. I laughed inwardly, wondering if he should have been depicted with one of his wives bent over that desk.
“Are you looking forward to having your statue added to the memorial?” a reporter asked. I was surprised that it was the first time someone had asked a question since I left the reporters behind at the hotel.
“No, because it means I’ll be dead,” I replied before grinning to show that I was joking--sort of.
“How would you like to be depicted?” another asked.
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it,” I replied. “Maybe something that celebrates ending the wars and the senseless loss of life instead of winning the wars,” I suggested.
“What do you plan to do next?” someone asked.
“Enjoy the rest of my honeymoon. And no, I don’t know where we’re going next. My wives haven’t told me.” That comment brought lots of laughs and I made my escape before they could ask another question.
I could tell that the reporters were getting organized. While they couldn’t keep up with me as I jogged back to the hotel, I noted at least a dozen camera drones around me.
“You survived,” Sally laughed when I entered the suite. They were watching a live broadcast showing what I’d been doing.
“Must be a slow news day,” I groused as I watched the news video showing me entering the hotel a few minutes ago.
“Nope, Dorothy warned us that you’d be the main focus of the news unless something else happens,” Annette said.
“Fine,” I said, sighing.
My wives spent the next couple of hours trying to reward me for accepting my fate and to raise my spirits. At least that was their excuse.
Tuesday March 15
“What’s our agenda for today?” I asked as we ate breakfast in our suite. I could have asked earlier, or even yesterday, but decided to enjoy the morning before finding out what I was condemned to do today.
“We’re touring the White House,” Sally said, although her nervous look told me that our “tour” was more than a normal tour.
“And?” I asked.
“We’re meeting the President,” Helga admitted.
“Okay,” I agreed, once again resigning myself to my new status as a national figurehead.
“And we’ll be meeting other people visiting the White House at an informal lunch on the South Lawn,” Sally added.
“With several reporters covering it,” Kristen added.
“Okay,” I agreed reluctantly. My agreement earned me kisses from all the women.
Sally’s grin and her hand gripping the front of my pants let me know that she would have rewarded me another way if the kids hadn’t been here too.
I was surprised at how few reporters were waiting for us outside the front of the hotel when we left.
Our bus dropped us off near the White House visitor center and we were immediately the center of attention for the news crews, as well as the visitors standing in line. Since we were being led to the front of the line, I felt it was only fair to shake hands with everyone between the bus and the security gate. I laughed silently when I saw that each of our security guards that were invisible above us was paired up with a Secret Service agent on their own grav sled. Our security men were in their usual fatigues. The Secret Service agents were in their usual black suits. From some of the things I noticed, it seemed that our security men were teaching the Secret Service agents about the grav sleds. I was still surprised that our armed security was allowed over the White House grounds.
Twelve Secret Service agents met us at the visitor center and accompanied us to the White House. Despite everything, I was surprised when President Talbot met us inside, along with a White House camera crew.
“Thank you for doing this,” she said as she hugged me.
“I’ve been reminded repeatedly that I’m now a national figurehead and need to do this to reassure and encourage the American people,” I replied.
“I know that you’re uncomfortable with all the attention, but you’ll get used to it,” she advised.
Turning to her guests, she continued, “You know Elliot, Drew, and Marnie,” she said as I stepped forward and shook hands with all three.
“And these are Marnie’s parents, John and Sylvia Sullivan,” she continued.
I shook their hands, but Mrs. Sullivan pulled me into a hug. “Thank you,” she sobbed. “Our son James is in China.”
The President accompanied us for a few minutes but had to leave for a meeting. Her sons and Marnie’s family joined us for the tour, guided by a tour guide. I could tell that our tour was more comprehensive than usual as many of the areas we visited didn’t have any other visitors and Secret Service agents blocked access to some of them.
The Sullivans stayed inside with Elliot and Drew, as my family exited the White House, guided to the South Lawn by our Secret Service escort. “Other visitors and informal lunch?” I teased the girls when I saw the throng outside; and that didn’t include the horde of press corralled behind a fence about fifty meters from the crowd.
Outside were at least twenty pavilion-style tents set up in a row, each with tables of food with bins of beverages beneath it. Raising my left hand so it was above my head, I made a circular motion with my index finger, indicating to our security team that there were no threats in the vicinity. “No threats outside,” I told the lead Secret Service agent with us.
“C’mon,” Sally insisted, taking my arm and leading me to the closest pavilion. Once we reached the first group, I began shaking hands. Since small children weren’t allowed to tour the White House, there were no children, but lots of teens. Sally, Jackie, and Olivia traded off standing behind me to my right, occasionally handing out one of the business cards they carried. Aside from the news people, people there to tour the White House took hundreds of photos of me with their various family members.
Most of my wives headed for the bus and then the hotel, taking the kids with them. The kids had fidgeted for much of the tour and needed to be off their feet.
We’d greeted about half of the people and Sally had just handed one of the cards to a man here with his wife and three teenage kids. “Impressive,” the next man commented with a grin as I shook his hand. His bearing told me he was ex-military.
“What’s impressive?” I asked.
“The subtle signal you give your wife by wiggling your pinkie finger if you want her to give someone one of the cards she has,” he replied, still grinning.
“I’m impressed that you noticed,” I replied, my voice making the comment a question.
“It was my job to notice little things like that. Second Lieutenant Jarod Crane, USMC Raiders, Retired,” he said, giving me a smart salute.
“Good to meet you,” I replied as I pulled a business card out of my shirt pocket. Turning it over, I wrote “01” on the back.
“If you’re interested in working for my security team, com the second number on the front. Tell the person who answers, ‘Lima Juliet Oscar Kilo zero one’ and then give them your name. If you’d rather work at a different job, com the first number,” I explained.
“Thanks, I will, but how will they know the right person shows up?” he asked, again grinning.
“Your photo and the number I wrote on the back of the card have already been transmitted to them. If a different person showed up, well, it wouldn’t be pleasant,” I replied.
The cards had been the idea of Max Cooper and Don for me to hand out to anyone I felt would be a good fit with the security team. The current security guys knew that I had the cards in my shirt pocket and what it meant if I handed one out. They’d make sure the photo and number were transmitted right away. The “01” meant it was the first card I’d handed out.
Lima Juliet was Military phonetic alphabet for LJ, or Lucky Jim. Oscar Kilo was for OK, or okay.
It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that I reached the end of the line, and I think it was only because they’d cut off admission for the day so people had long enough to complete the tour. After thanking our escort, we boarded our bus, which had returned for us, and headed back to the hotel.
I was exhausted, and could tell that Sally, Jackie, and Olivia weren’t in any better condition. Still, Dijonae had enough energy to pull me into the bedroom and have her way with me. Afterwards, we had dinner in the room and, once the kids were down for the night, my remaining energy was drained by my succubi wives as we continued celebrating our honeymoon.
Wednesday March 16
Today was a travel day. Booooriiiiing. Aside from being with my family, the only good thing about the day was not having to deal with photographers and reporters, although there were a few newsies outside the hotel when we left for the bullet train station.
The train we wanted was scheduled to leave at 0627. This morning, I enjoyed one of the few perks of my new status as a national figurehead. We had a police escort clearing the way for us all the way to the station. Once there, yet another large group of baggage handlers was waiting for us and had our luggage transferred to the train before we were all aboard. Again, as I handed out tips, Sally handed out the business cards offering them jobs in Tensas Parish.
I wondered how many people had accepted the offer and how many people were currently working for us in Tensas Parish. The rising panic I felt thinking about the latter question made me decide I didn’t really want to know.
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